


Around the Strange Things

by FasterPace



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Begging, Bottom!Soonyoung, Character Development, Coming of Age, Dom/sub, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Homophobia, M/M, Magical Realism, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Porn With Plot, Romantic Friendship, Sex Jokes, Sexting, Sexual Confusion, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Spanking, inspirational shit, philosophy and character development told through sex basically, probably a bunch of other kinks but i still would prefer to NOT go to hell maybe :(, sub!soonyoung, this is about the gay experience but also ITS ABOUT THE BIGGER PICTURE :O !!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 00:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9467729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FasterPace/pseuds/FasterPace
Summary: Includes official art by Beamryce.A boy with good luck and a boy with a cruel curse find their fates tied.Said blessed boy then pays said cursed boy fifty bucks for a handjob.After coming to America in his college freshman year, "Good Luck" Lee Jihoon becomes the housemate of 12 other rowdy boys in a mossy forest of half-broken radios and illegal sea-swimming. He and his growing circle of gays ("I'm bisexual, actually," says Hoshi) try their best to understand who they are without getting in trouble.But there are hitches.The stories about Mingyu Kim are actually true. If the curse is real, then Jihoon will cross his fingers and hope his good luck makes him immune.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been very loved. Chapter 1 alone has been in the works for OVER A YEAR due to intense character creation shit. I don't know if anyone else will take it seriously, but if you have any love to give it, I'll be really, really happy. :) And if so, then thank you in advance, haha.  
> IMPORTANT THINGS!!!!!!!!  
> •A few characters do not speak perfect English. This is NOT a joke. This is NOT an insult to ANYBODY. This story takes place in America, and for many characters, English is not a first language. I'm American but I believe in accurate and diverse representation. Some speech patterns of non-American characters are based on articles that detail common English mistakes from people of particular nationalities. But of course the characters as individuals are taken into account.  
> •I'm a gay dude but I'm also a white American. I'm trying my best to portray race (and nationality) issues in an accurate and respectful way. If I stray then slap me please. Or just politely correct me but you could slap me, that'd be funnier.  
> •Notes to shippers:  
> I'm kind of surprised myself, but in terms of relationships, this is not a story about very monogamous children who hold hands on the first date and kiss on the second. It's about a bunch of weird (and, to be honest, horny) college boys whose crushes kind of shift around a bunch and they just try to have a good time while all being deep into the closet.  
> However, sleeping around, weird make-outs, and all-inclusive sexual tension is kind of a thing, so please keep that in mind if polyamorousness isn't your preference. There is some extent of monogamy and it's really different for every character, but the relationships are often fluid and vary more than simple "secret boyfriends," "friends with benefits," or other similarly solid labels. Definitions of the tagged "tops" and "bottoms" are also loose and fluid.  
> To Mingyu/Jihoon shippers: There are probably five of you out there? This is the focal ship, though, ayyyyy.  
> To Soonhoon shippers: It's not one-sided, the ship does have its moments. There is legitimate and significant development between them.  
> To other shippers: I want to keep most of the ships a surprise, so you'll just have to read and find out. There are crack ships, a LOAD of teased ships because these are confused kids with a lot of feelings, and incidentally, at least one very popular ship will be explored.  
> To everyone/everyone shippers: Welcome, friends. Please enjoy your stay.  
> •TW: homophobia, homophobic slurs (some used by actual gay people in a lighthearted way, so beware of that), racism, alcohol, weed, some dank sexy times (for character development, but it'll be dank tho), some of the fancy in your pantsy business is gon be kinky so caution, cursing lol  
> •You can read however you want so if you're on a street corner hiding your on-phone fanfic from the sweet old lady next to you then COOL!!! But if you want my recommendation, I recommend listening to white noise through your headphones as you read this story. 'Cause that's the way I wrote it!! :O IT'LL BE FUN(?)

(Chapter 1 art by Beamryce for Around the Strange Things)

_"Just try something new, Jihoon. Here's-- okay, listen. Here's what I think. Are you listening? Okay, well... Your problem's the education, right? Like, whether it's a good idea. But I mean, I think... Korean's obviously easier for you, so... Honestly-- it doesn't matter if you're good at English, your grades will go down if you go. Okay, but wait. Is it about the grades for you, or is it about understanding? And discovering things, and going on an adventure, seeing the world and finding who you are? Exactly. Right, so... Go to America. Carry yourself forward, meet confusion with wide-eyed excitement. The world'll change around you. If education isn't a tool, if education is really an endless hallway of open doors, then step onward as an adventurer and never look back."_

* * *

    Somewhere, in an American rosewood tree, a creature screeches out, and the echo rolls down the darkness of the woods, between the trees, until it ends at the sand and the water.  
    In a mist of night's swallowing blackness, a young man striding forward through the wood hears this call, and he instantly does not care.  
    He drags his wheeled suitcase behind. His fist yanks one backpack strap. "Good Luck" Lee Jihoon walks with his sneakers scratching the dark rocks and kicking up the pebbles.  
    He hears his own scratchy footsteps.  
    In this place, there is quiet.  
    But even this morning-- or, by Korea time, just last night-- cicadas took up every breeze in Busan.  
    Here, it’s just Jihoon’s sneakers droning on the asphalt.  
    Except, the leaves shuffle. They shift together.  
    Trees creek from far away. There are roots that surface from the dirt and dangle in crumbling must.  
    Around here, night means all sounds are rustles in the dark.  
    In a ghostly cast of moonlight, moss at the side of the road passes by, the green crumbling with the rock at the edge of the asphalt. Another sign lingers in the corner of his eye, blackened.  
    Two hours ago, Jihoon clicked into LINES. Three fingers fuzzing up numb from pressure on the suitcase handle, his thumb stumbled with the words " _the ferry arrived._ " All he got was " _great!!! :D_ " from user WonderMan2. Complete silence from even the chatterboxes that damn spam his phone. All twelve housemates must be busy at the same time, and if they're too busy together, that implies being within the same vicinity, which, if Jihoon's right, makes him the thirteenth person out of thirteen to show up.  
    And now Jihoon's buddying up with the plants.

  
    The soil hitches on a sea breeze and curls up damp and sultry into Jihoon’s airy over-shirt, seething beneath.  
    He's ready to pull his phone from his pocket and break in the new Google Maps app, but Good Luck Lee Jihoon is always, always found when he's lost, so what's the point, anyway?  
    Distant crumbling down the path.  
    The boy looks over his shoulder. Light trails down the road, fanning out gentle across the asphalt, breaking apart between the rocky shadows of clunkier patches, to ghost in highlights at the heels of his sneakers. And car tires crackle against the rocks, slipping closer and closer.  
    Jihoon steps off the side of the road (and onto the dewy patches of grass), raises his hand, and waits.  
    It approaches slowly. Soon, white headlights fill everything up. It's all white. Crackling, and crackling... and then the crackling of tires on rock rolls to a stop.  
    When Jihoon can see again through the cast of white light, there's a rusty pickup truck. A skinny-armed stranger leans from the window.  
    "Hey!" he calls over the engine hum. "Are you lost?"  
    The L sounds different. He isn't American.  
    Jihoon moves closer. He opens his mouth before he closes it. And then, he softens into a short nod.  
    The stranger's slim eyes get wide and gentle, mouth settling into a little half smile.  
    He says, "Thought so. It's really dark, and like, so far from everything. So you need a ride?"  
    Jihoon blinks at the shadowed face of the pickup truck driver, feeling the thick air turn cool in his nostrils, on the side of the street, among the trees that streak high and dark into the long and wide sky and say nothing.  
    Again, Jihoon's slow opening his mouth. And then he slurs in his own awkward accent, "If that's okay."  
    The stranger clenches his white teeth in a little smile and clenches his eyelids thin. "Where're you going?”  
    He tugs at his backpack straps. He looks up through a glaze of headlights, and he recites, "RFD Route 7 number 84A."  
    The stranger breaths out: "Ah." But shock stiffens his cheeks. "84A?"  
    Jihoon hunches over and nods.  
    "No way! Same here, wow."  
    Even in the black inards of the pickup truck, Jihoon can find vague shapes, the boy's mouth round and quirked in the corners. And then Jihoon rolls shoulders back, and he says, "Oh. Really?"  
    The smudged car door opens.  
    Two slim legs slip out of the truck, and they're wrapped up tight; clad in a stiff and black material that bunches at the ankles. Above a lanky form, a smiling face peaks out and the door slams closed.  
    The boy strides toward Jihoon on the crunching asphalt, and his nose ring catches a vague glint from the shining headlights that stand so alone in the darkness.  
    That's a septum piercing, glinting below the rounded nose.  
    "I'll put your stuff in the back," he says softly. He gazes to Jihoon below his side-swept black bangs, and then, he puts out a hand.  
    "Sure."  
    Jihoon guides the suitcase to the stranger and his open hand.  
    "This all of it?" he asks.  
    "I used... mailing...? I--"  
    Jihoon looks down, palms flat, awkwardly gesturing side to side. The black-haired boy watches with his back straight.  
    "Mailing it," Jihoon finally murmurs. "I-- we-- mailed everything."  
    "Ahh," the boy says on a sigh, smiling and nodding.  
    Jihoon approaches the truck.  
    "I'm Jihoon, by the way."  
    "They call me 'Hoshi,'" says Jihoon's new housemate-- one of twelve new housemates-- before he heaves the bag onto the cargo bed with a bang.  
    After his intro, Hoshi looks down to his passenger, sweetness in his cheeks.  
    Jihoon quirks an eyebrow and grins, squinting at Hoshi. "Who's 'they?'"  
    And Hoshi shyly presses his lips flat and shoves his grin down his throat.  
    "Ya know, friends and stuff," he replies, turned, his steps crunching over to the pickup truck door.  
    When Jihoon's sitting shotgun and leaning to latch his seatbelt in the shadows, he feels around in the dark and knocks some stuff into some other stuff until he feels the click.  
    The air's a warm cloud. There's a congestion of wet heat at his hair roots, so he slips off his snapback by the brim and places it in his lap. He ruffles his dark brown hair. Gleaming white hat resting on his knee, Jihoon watches the blackened road in the distance while he takes his phone and earbuds from his pants pocket.  
    Hoshi hears something humming in the Jihoon person's earbuds. Hoshi grabs the stick shift, fist bumping into his Shinee keychain-- it chimes with metal clicks.  
    The headlights flicker.  
    His fingers wrap around the wheel and the engine hums again.  
    The wood cruises by and around them in a rush of leaves and lumber and green and darkness. Rolling by.  
    The truck jostles.  
    The keychain chimes with it.  
    Jihoon is quiet and his hands are on his backpack straps-- he's still wearing it. It's all squelched in behind him, like, pressed against the seat, and it's rattling. It's full of so much thing-ness; stuff that Hoshi can't recognize, except for the burbling of water bottles, probably a foreign brand.  
    Oh, and the suitcase, it's rumbling against the cargo bed.  
    At a dip in the asphalt, every little thing in the truck jumps and then shifts, rutting against one another.  
    "Where are you from?" Jihoon splits into the quiet.  
    Hoshi flits his gaze to Jihoon and the guy's looking this way, eyes all sharp, with an earbud hanging in one hand and the other plugging up his right ear.  
    Eyes back on the road.  
    Hoshi pushes a vague smile on his lips and, "Japan. I'm Japanese."  
    "Ah," Jihoon whispers.  
    "My parents are Korean," Hoshi recites for the third time today, "but I was born in Japan."  
    "Then... can you speak Korean?"  
    "No."  
    "Oh. It's okay.”  
    Jihoon finds that the window is almost cool against his cheek. He watches trees skid against the car's spotlight and then slip away into the darkness.  
    In the little rusted truck, light is still a dim, bluish glow, a color that seeps in from the headlights, through the thick glass of the windshield. But Jihoon's eyes eventually land curiously at that septum ring, and then the black words inked into Hoshi's neck. And then, the silver rings encircling Hoshi's fingers.  
    And then the skinny jeans.  
    They hug close to the boy's legs, bunching tight and confined at his knees where the fabric digs into the curves of his thighs, probably leaving choky red marks on the skin of his legs. And the jeans crease everywhere from the tightness. And the creases coil around his legs, between them... where the creases press together in a very cramped in a place where all the shadows cross over.  
    Jihoon has little hope for becoming friends, but he still looks at Hoshi and hopes to one day see a guy in tight little jeans under him. It's a passing thought, though.  
    Hoshi watches the road, flips on his turn signal, and makes a mental note that his new housemate spent a solid six seconds staring at his crotch.  
    Since boys don't mean much when they happen to accidentally stare at each other's crotch-areas, it's fine, probably.  
    Hoshi mutters all light and laughing: "I'm glad I found you. The luck is crazy."  
    Good Luck Lee Jihoon reaches up to pluck one earbud from his ear.  
    "I mean," Hoshi continues, "even finding a person, any person is-- weird? Like, out here. I mean... I just found my housemate in the middle of the woods and all. The luck is crazy."  
    Good Luck Lee Jihoon chuckles. "Yeah," he replies with crinkled eyes.  
    "How long were you wandering around?"  
    "Not for a long time," Jihoon says with a stumbling Korean accent.  
    "Yeah?"  
    "Yeah."  
    Hoshi exhales a little laugh.  
    He briefly eyes the guy smiling at the window beside him-- the guy plugs that earbud back into his ear-- and then falls into a shy silence, his mouth sort of closed into a puffy frown.  
    Jihoon keeps to watching strange shapes moving through the darkness from the little rusted truck. His eyes close for three seconds this time, and the wood disappears, and so do the shining white fireflies tucked far out into space where the moonrock guides them. There is silence, and then there is the engine hum, the hush of tires on gravelly road, and the look of a lighthouse's head pressing up, peeking out over trees in the distance.

# ○

    While light-beeping fireflies latch on the window screen, fluttering and landing one by one, Chwe Hansol is leaning butt-to-kitchen-counter, grinning into his dimples while LINES user WonderMan2 says, "I go all the time."  
    WonderMan2 sucks cheese off his thumb, on its joint. "It's safe, I swear."  
    And he slaps the microwave door closed.  
    “I never got ID'd." His finger hovers over the buttons. "No one-- It's-- I mean it. It doesn't happen."  
    "Oh, wow," Hansol laughs breathily, and his voice winds up and cracks into the laugh. He turns his head to LINES user jhoney.  
    Jhoney looks back, his lips are parted awkwardly, and Hansol gives that a cackle, too.  
    WonderMan2's shoes shift into the dust bunny trails that cling below the white wooden cabinets. Just from shifting and breathing, his knees lightly bump and bump into the streaks of sunny chestnut-colored wood where the white paint is cracked away.  
    "I thought Hoshi was getting food," Hansol pipes up.  
    "He is," WonderMan2 says with an audible smile. "But I ain't waitin'."  
    "Oh, okay," Hansol mumble-chuckles with his eyes flitting to the floor.  
    Hoshi's out in the night somewhere.  
    Hansol likes real-life Hoshi. He's loud, he wears temporary tattoos and grins like a chipmunk. When he asks "What's your major?" or "Do you read at all?" his eyes get all wide.  
    Hansol's smile stretches out.  
    And Wonwoo's a few doors down. Wonwoo is still Wonwoo. But it's weird to see his apathetic happy-frown without the frame of the soft, dark blue Skype window glowing beside Hansol's plastic desk lamp.  
    "One sec," WonderMan2 says, reaching.  
    WonderMan2--  
    No, hold on. Yeah, wait--  
    Hansol remembers the name now.  
    Seungcheol! It's Seungcheol. Yeah, Hansol definitely got it! That's for sure his name. Okay, cool!  
    (Cool guy) Seungcheol's turned away, the silver chain at his nape glinting below the cut-off of short chestnut hair. Out from the darkness, emanating through the mesh of the window screen, the sea wind spreads out across white-painted plaster walls and white-painted wooden cupboards and rustles Seungcheol's bleach brown hair. His hand shifts into a cupboard of plastic cups.  
    "Sorry, do you guys want anything?" Seungcheol asks, voice sliding lazily through the intonation. (Seungcheol never seemed lazy in his messages-- he types like a happy cheerleader who’s on everyone’s team.)  
    "I'm good," Hansol replies.  
    "Uh..." LINES user jhoney drawls, "Got any soda?"  
    Seungcheol looks over his shoulder, haloed by the fireflies on the window screen. His teeth peek out-- "We got diet Cola."  
    "Okay," jhoney murmurs.  
    The kitchenette fills with breeze. It passes over the white-painted counter-top. It drifts into the den, by the couch and the floors and until the other window.  
    It brushes against a tan arm as a new face turns up in the dark doorway to the hall.  
    "Guys."  
    It's that guy with his hair dyed blue. His widened eyes tick back and forth and lock onto different places while his knuckles nudge the doorframe.  
    "What's up?" Seungcheol asks, turning around.  
    "I was unpacking and stuff, right?" he lisps behind clunky canines. "But I heard this little click, click, click sound-- you know mouse clicking? On a computer? Like the sound?"  
    "Yeah?" Seungcheol says with an intrigued chuckle.  
    Jhoney leans forward to peek around Hansol and Hansol lazily watches jhoney's open and curious gaze.  
    "Yeah, it was that sound," the blue-hair-guy says.  
    Hansol leans back more on his hands-- the counter is smooth and the breeze smells fresh.  
    "So I just looked over my shoulder a little bit." He lifts his chin and shifts it toward his shoulder. "I looked..."  
    Behind the suave styled side part of blue hair, the tall guy says a bunch of stuff about a bird or something, and Hansol thinks it's really interesting how his eyebrows can shoot up that quick and how his face can scrunch and unscrunch with barely any effort.  
    "Really? Actually?" Seungcheol says on a grin. "When?"  
    It's easy to make Seungcheol happy. It's nice.  
    "Just now," blue-dyed-hair says. "It was so big." He holds one hand a foot above the other. "It flew away, though. When I stood up, it spread its wings really fucking wide. I thought it was threatening me or something, but it just flew away."  
    Seungcheol laughs.  
    "Wow," Hansol says awkwardly. "That's crazy."  
    Jhoney sips on his diet Cola.  
    "Yeah," says Seungcheol. He's looking up thoughtfully, quirks his head to the side, mouth open and teeth showing. "Yeah, animals are weird here."  
    A violent _ding_.  
    Seungcheol turns around to pop open the microwave oven.  
    Hansol shifts some tangly waves of brown hair falling in front of his eyes and feels another air wave. The smell of rainy dirt mounds by the ocean washes together with the tomatoey-ness radiating from microwaved Digiorno's.  
    In a way that smells like... tomatos. In the dirt. Or something.  
     LINES user jhoney leans forward and his Adam's apple bobs.  
    "Do you know if everyone's done moving in?" he asks.  
    "They should be?" Seungcheol replies. Hansol can barely see him nudging the steaming pizza with his fingertips, and it settles to the plastic plate's center. "Seungkwan's parents are still upstairs but I think he's done unpacking."  
    "They are," says the guy in the doorway, shoulder leaning on the doorframe and angled kinda weird.  
    "So yeah," says Seungcheol. "We're still missing Jihoon and then that's all of us? He's on his way."  
    Who?  
    "Sorry," jhoney says with a smirk and a breathy laugh, "who's Jihoon?"  
    With a turn of his head he replies, "MCSmallieBigs."  
    "Oh, yeah," Hansol mumbles. His lazy smile cracks open until his smile is stretching wide and he says, "His username is great."  
    "Right?" replies Seungcheol.  
    Seungcheol dips his head down for a bite before turning around, his butt against the other counter, his jaw chomping away and round, puffy mouth open.  
    "I was thinking when Jihoon gets here-- Are you guys cool with ice breakers? I know it's awkward, but it'd be good since there's so many of us."  
    "I think it's fine," says jhoney.  
    "Yeah, that’s fine,” says Hansol.  
    Hansol has trouble with names. He'd appreciate it so, so much.  
    "What d'you think, Mingyu?" asks Seungcheol.  
    "What?" the blue-hair-guy says, head snapping up-- the thumbs on his flip-phone keyboard freeze.  
    "I was thinking we could do ice breakers later?"  
    With a nod, blue-hair-Mingyu says, "Fine."  
    "Cool. There are thirteen of us, so... it'd be nice if we could get to know each other even better. We're living together, you know?"  
    Hansol nods. "Mm."  
    A brief silence.  
    A louder cicada settles beyond the window.  
    When Hansol's gaze rises to Seungcheol, Seungcheol's pressing a crumpled up napkin across his mouth and staining it orange and oily.  
    "D'you guys like the house so far?"  
    "Yeah, totally--" "Yeah--" "Yeah."  
    Mingyu's tucking his closed flip phone into his pocket.  
    "Good," Seungcheol says, all peppy and comfortable.  
    Hansol smiles with that same comfort while Seungcheol takes a swig of water.  
    There's a clumpy smell upstairs, like all the must settled into the floor. Earlier, Hansol eased against a wall and something scratched at his skin; curling yellow bits of the paint. The AC (there's an AC, though!!) rattles so fast it buzzes, like radio fuzz.  
    Hansol’s getting what he can afford.  
    It's quiet.  
    Jhoney's watching the clock. Seungcheol's staring studiously at the glass of water in his hand.  
    And then there's a vague electronic ring.  
    Seungcheol's eyes flicker-- up above the tiles, up to the ceiling-- they all look to each other--  
    "That's the phone," says Seungcheol. “It's upstairs, so—” He pauses, and then, looking to the white ceiling patches— "Seungkwan!"  
    Seungcheol waits, his mouth parted. And then there's the vague ringing.  
    "Okay," Seungcheol begins, and then--  
    "I'll get it," Mingyu beams before turning around and dashing away, his footsteps tapping and creaking throughout the house.  
    A little uncomfortably, Seungcheol settles back against the counter. He picks up the pizza slice and takes another bite, teeth cleanly parting the cheese and the crust, and Hansol is reminded of a few people back home, their ripped converse and hunchy spines and how _they_ eat pizza; much less LINES user WonderMan2 who yesterday woke people up with a message that just said _"good morning!!"_  
    Hansol isn't home anymore, and that's okay. But now he has to ask Seungcheol more about his major.  
    And what was jhoney's name again?  
    J...  
    "Hey," Seungcheol says, "how did things go with the girlfriend?" Seungcheol's teeth are showing but his smile is soft.  
    Hansol closes his eyes when the breathy laughs spill over and he settles his hands back on the counter behind him. "She's okay. We're gonna video call a lot."  
    "Yeah? Good," Seungcheol says with settling shoulders. "You can make it work, you know. You've got the practicalness. You know?"  
    Hansol tries to grin hard when he says, "Thanks, man."  
    "So she lives far away?" jhoney suddenly asks with deer eyes.  
    "I left my country to come to school here," Hansol says. "I'm from Korea."  
    "Oh, wow."  
    "You?"  
    "Arkansas," he laughs.  
    "Hey, that's cool," Hansol smiles.  
    The day will be over soon. And then Hansol will be left to lie in his new bed. Stare at his eyelids for a while. Listen to his own thoughts.

# ●

    "Hello?" a formal and awkward voice answers.  
    "어," Jihoon slips.  
    Wrong language.  
    Jihoon's warm iPhone is pressed against his cheek  
    He stares at the silhouette of the windshield wiper, and then he slides his sleek phone to the other ear.  
    "Hello," Jihoon struggles. "Is this Seungcheol?"  
    "Seungcheol is downstairs. Should I get him?"  
    "No," says Jihoon. "It's okay. You live..."  
    How do you say it in English?  
    Fuck.  
    What was it?  
    Jihoon can hear Hoshi's muffled voice. Because it's closed off by the pickup truck door, it sounds washed out. Low, muffled vibrations of a person's voice. With the glass window as their stopper. Beyond the door.  
    "In..." Jihoon says at an uncomfortable volume, "You're a... housemate?"  
    Jihoon's eyes flit to Hoshi's shoulder pressed into the outside glass of the other window.  
    The American voice on the line says an uneasy, "Uh. Yes."  
    "I'm Jihoon. I'm with... Hoshi. Hoshi was driving... The truck stopped. Hoshi said call Seungcheol and say that... that the truck stopped."  
    "The truck stopped?" the voice says against Jihoon's ear. "It broke down? Do you need help?"  
    "No. Hoshi is calling..." Jihoon watches Hoshi's murky figure shifting and stretching his spine just outside the truck, "someone. We're okay. Hoshi said I say that we will be there late, because-- so-- order food," Jihoon ends in a strained mutter.  
    No answer.  
    There's only fuzz on the line.  
    Jihoon puts his free hand down and his palm pats too loud against the leather seat.  
    The voice on the line speaks again.  
    "I'm sorry, can you please explain that again?"  
    Jihoon breathes in.  
    Jihoon breathes out.  
    "The truck stopped," Jihoon enunciates in his best American impression. "Are you listening?"  
    "Uh-- yes."  
    "Hoshi was driving. The truck stopped. Hoshi is calling someone."  
    Jihoon pauses.  
    Is the guy listening or not?  
    A silent fuzz.  
    "Okay?" the American voice answers uneasily.  
    "The-- the person-- someone-- will take care of the truck."  
    "Yes?"  
    "We'll be... without... the truck. We will be walking."  
    "Oh-- yeah."  
    "Because... And so... we'll being back late. We have pizza but it will be cold."  
    "Oh, so--"  
    "So, you should order food. Understood?"  
    "Yeah. I mean-- yes."  
    "Thank you. You were helpful. Bye."  
    "Wait."  
    "What?"  
    A pause on the other line.  
    And then the American speaks again.  
    "Just," he begins. In a small mouth shape Jihoon can hear, "What's your name?"  
    Jihoon squints at the ghostly darkness. On someone else's leather seat. In a car that is going somewhere, but at this time, it's still. Jihoon is alone in the dark, eyes glazing across the shape of murky silhouettes in the closed car.  
    "What?" Jihoon says.  
    "We're going to live in the same house. Be nice, guy.”  
    Jihoon stares at the silhouette of the windshield wiper. Then, he tucks his legs into pretzel position. The leather seat squeaks as he shifts.  
    "Lee Jihoon. I mean. My name is..." Jihoon says in his best American impression, "Jihoon Lee."  
    “Nice to meet you.”  
    "Sure..."  
    "Okay, well, I'm Mingyu."  
    "Wh--"  
    “So do you need anything? I'm really good with cars, so can I help? I know how to jumpstart an engine or replace brake flui--"  
    "No! Thank you. That’s nice, but no thank you.” And after a pause—  
    Jihoon sees something shift in the window. The blackness shifts.  
    Hoshi's shoulder is shifting, lifting from the glass window as his dark-haired figure begins to turn and as Hoshi's eyes peek over his shoulder and--  
    "Thank you for the helping," says Jihoon, "bye," and he peels the phone from his cheek and nudges the red button.  
    When Jihoon looks up, Hoshi is stiffly standing in the open truck door, with his hand on the door handle.  
    Hoshi says, "Did you call Seungcheol?"  
    Jihoon nods against the leaf-scented breeze.  
    "Alright, cool. While we're waiting, the pizza's in the back. I'm kinda hungry, you?"  
    "Sure."  
    Hoshi and Jihoon end up sitting side-by-side on the bit of the trunk on the end that swings down, Hoshi with his sneakers scratching the road and Jihoon with his legs dangling.  
    Hoshi basks with the warm pizza box on his legs.  
    "I love pizza," Hoshi moans quietly around the savory bits of bread and cheese he's chewing at.  
    Jihoon laughs weirdly and then he frowns really quick.  
    Okay then? So Hoshi stares down his pizza slice and chomps off another bite. He bobs his head forward for another. It's really doughy and oily all patted in together, so, oops, Hoshi has too much food in his mouth. He can't have a conversation now. Oops. What a shame.  
    At least the wind smells like the trees and the air is warm like summer isn't over yet.  
    Jihoon eats as he stares across the yellow line on the side of the road and watches it disappear out into the wood.  
    They stack the oily boxes on top of each other and slide them to the back of the trunk.

# ○

  
    "We're roommates," LINES user HedwigsBirdFood says with a grin so wide and real it leaves lines of strain in his cheek muscles.  
    "We--" LINES user fuckyeahvvg giggles, "We kinda met today, though."  
    They look to each other chuckling with their teeth showing, and Hansol grins with, “You didn’t talk on LINES?”  
    "Oh, yeah, 'course," says fuckyeahvvg, getting louder, because the chatter around them is building. "But, like-- only one time?"  
    "Two times!" says HedwigsBirdFood.  
    “Okay, two,” says fuckyeahvvg. “And he keeps getting my name wrong?”  
    “I’m sorry,” HBF (aka HedwigsBirdFood) grins down at his roommate very genuinely and a little sadly, and then he adds, “Chan."  
    Fuckyeahvvg (whose regular name is Chan?) grins a D-shaped gummy grin of pride that HBF got it right this time. Hansol's eyes drift.  
    “Who’s your roommate… Hansol?” HBF reassures with a gleam in his voice.  
    Hansol looks up to HBF, the fizzle of living room conversations hovering around them, the dude’s brown hair sticking to his forehead and his smile warm and uneasy in front of all the guys looming on the blotchy red sofa and actual rugs, cracking plaster walls framing HBF’s sweaty grin.  
    Blue-hair-guy’s laughing at something with his grin stretched out wide and canines bared, legs spread out across the rug.  
    “My roommate’s pretty cool. You met Wonwoo?” Hansol asks.  
    “I don— Wait,” Chan begins.  
    Yeah? Hansol replies mentally.  
    “Is his name on LINES wegotthesememories?”  
    No.  
    “That’s me,” Hansol exhales.  
    “Oh,” Chan replies stiffly.  
    Chan's face freezes on Hansol for a second like his brain-cogs are jammed. He waits for Chan to warm up some ’till he says, “Wonwoo is popewonwoo.”  
    “What does he look like?”  
    “Tall?”  
    “Does he have blue hair?”  
    “That’s… Minsu.”  
    “Oh.”  
    HBF and Chan stand there looking loose in the muscles. Finally, finally, Hansol knots his fingers between each other and says, “Wonwoo’s the deaf guy?”  
    “Ohhh!”    “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know his name.”  
    Hansol breathes out, “It’s o—”  
    “I love that show!” somebody yells in some corner of the kitchenette, and another hum of words follows.  
    “What?” HedwigsBirdFood says to Hansol.  
    “I just said it’s okay,” Hansol chuckles.  
    Chan’s eyes glint and then the light fades away when he starts up with, “You— Do you…”  
    “Do I speak sign language?” Hansol replies.  
    “Yeah.”  
    “Kind of. I’m learning.”  
    “Wow, that’s really cool,” HBF chirps.  
    “Thanks,” Hansol says, and then, “Anyway, Wonwoo’s pretty cool. We get along pretty well. What year are you guys, by the way?”  
    “Sophomore,” smugs Chan.  
    “I’m a junior,” says HBF, “what about you?”  
    “I’m a freshman,” laughs Hansol.  
    “What?”    “Oh.”  
    “Freshmen can live off campus?” Chan gapes. “You can do that?”  
    “Yeah. I mean, it’s weird. There was a lot of paperwork for some reason. But, yeah, it’s a thing,” Hansol shrugs. “It’s, like… so convenient, so.”  
    “True,” HedwigsBirdFood hesitates.  
    Like Hansol, HedwigsBirdFood probably chose Seungcheol’s place because it’s cheap as balls. Hansol can read it in, like, the eyebrow quirking, probably, maybe.  
    Is Hansol projecting?  
    Okay, so, never mind about that, then, Hansol should not be projecting, so perhaps HBF chose Seungcheol’s house for a separate reason from Hansol’s, because everybody is different and that’s good because diversity is good.  
    “So,” Hansol begins again, “what’re your majors?”  
    “Art history,” Chan says.  
    “Hey, that’s cool!” HBF chirps with his eyes crowded by his eyelashes, eye-smile too intense for him to see but his eyes still glinting.  
    “Thanks,” Chan says, grinning gummy with his chin down modestly.  
    “Is it any fun?” HBF asks.  
    Fuckyeahvvg’s head bolts up, eyes wide and grin gone.  
    “Oh, definitely,” he nods and nods and nods, “Definitely, yeah, for sure.”  
    HBF laughs at his roommate in such a friendly way, so Hansol says, “What’s your major, Hedw— dude?”  
    HedwigsBirdFood turns his head.  
    “Mechanical engineering and technology,” he grins.  
    “D’you make robots?” Chan gasps with wide eyes.  
    A laugh bursts from HBF and his head tilts back. When he settles down, he says sweetly on a half-laugh, “A little bit, sometimes.”  
    “Hey, Hansol,” a voice calls as striding footsteps tickle the corner of Hansol’s eye.  
    It’s Seungcheol. Hansol steps back until the chatting-triangle malforms to four awkward corners. The guy is smiling with his teeth peaking out like a shy sun.  
    “Wassup?” Hansol says casually, hands slipping into his jeans pockets like he’s one smooth criminal who is great friend material for Seungcheol (hopefully).  
    “Aren’t you Christian?”  
    Hansol’s eyes widen at Seungcheol’s smiling face.  
    “Sort of,” Hansol mutters.  
    “Sorry, one more time?”  
    “Yeah,” Hansol says louder.  
    HBF and Chan are talking quietly about whatever, grins gummy and hands making silly little gestures as they slip in and out of giggle fits.  
    “Okay, so,” Seungcheol says. Hansol looks back to Seungcheol with his wide black shirt and clean American body spray smell. “Jun brought a huge box of Christmas lights.”  
    “What?” Hansol chuckles.  
    “I guess half his stuff is Christmas lights. No shame at all, though, that’s so awesome.”  
    “Yeah, that’s cool,” Hansol says with a smile.  
    “Yeah, the holidays here are gonna be lit. Because of lights? Listen, I’m so funny, Hansol.”  
    Hansol laughs but his eyes are drawn to the wall. Veering away from Seungcheol’s dumb grin, in the space between the cackling two roommates, above the guys relaxed on the rug and settled in the lumpy sofa, until it hits that back wall. Up above the window, there’s a blank space there.  
    “Where would we hang them?” Hansol asks. “Like over there maybe, or?” he says with his palm out that-a-way.  
    “Sure, that’d be cool.”  
    Hansol hasn’t seen the lights yet but they’re already glowing in his eyes. He imagines clunky bulbs in a lot of bright colors perched above the window. They’d have to drag chairs over to hang them bit by bit and then take them down with the season’s change. He’d help hang them.  
    That’s in three months. He isn’t even going to school here yet.  
    Today’s been so long.  
    Can he have another girlfriend by then? They could lace fingers together while he points to the lights, warmth between the soft and fleshy palms of their hands. The future will become a flipbook of memories. Hansol will become so wrapped up in his studies and teen angst and focus so much on his own shit that he’ll be surprised when a something slips onto his shoulder. It’s just an oak leaf. He’ll start brushing it off and stop because the color has faded to brown and it’s cracked up until the bigger veins, and he’ll look up to find that the seasons have been changing around him, the afternoon skies curling with the graham cracker clouds as the air picks up with a crumbly smell and Wonwoo will look back to him with a shit-eating grin as he’ll sign, “Walk faster, asshole.”  
    “So anyway,” Hansol says to Seungcheol.

# ●

    Over the fabric of his shirt's shoulder, the neon lights are still blazing little lines into the darkness. The glare on tires and parked cars is only tucked away by slouching heaps of vine. Jihoon turns his head to look before him, and, yup, there it is, the stretch of black that fades anything a yard away, the yellow line he tracks with a left-and-right sway and the undefined edge of the road that sags off into stuffy decomposition.  
    “No worries,” Hoshi mutters somewhere in the dark. “We’re only, like, half an hour away.”  
    “Okay,” Jihoon says to the dark.  
    His suitcase wheels grumble against the asphalt.  
    Jihoon's eyes feel heavy.  
    “I’m,” Hoshi swallows just above soft chirpings and clicks of the wood, “sorry. Hope you like walking,” he laughs breathily.  
    “It’s fine,” Jihoon mumble-laughs.  
    “So… do you… like music?”  
    “What?”  
    “I mean, I guess that’s a thing people like, mostly,” he laughs shyly.  
    “Yeah. You’re right. I’m a music theory major.”  
    “No way. You’re not joking with me?”  
    “Nope.”  
    “Wow. So— what stuff do you listen to?”  
    Jihoon looks down and it’s too dark to see his left and right legs moving or the suitcase handle in his hand, but he hears Hoshi back to his left, the soil crunching and the twigs and leaves crackling beneath the guy.  
    “Lots of kinds,” Jihoon states.  
    “Like what? Like— you were… listening to something on the way here. Right?”  
    Jihoon inhales plant-moldy air, holds it, “Four Seasons by Vivaldi. That’s a classical music song.”  
    “Ah,” Hoshi wills.  
    “I know,” Jihoon says, “but I think it’s… really damn good.”  
    Hoshi stifles an airy snort at that.  
    “So that’s your kind of thing?” Hoshi asks. “Is that… your ‘thing?’”  
    “Classical?”  
    “Yeah.”  
    “No.”  
    “Not really? What’s your ‘thing’ then?”  
    “What does that mean? My English…”  
    “No, no, your English’s fine. Okay, your ‘thing’ is… like… like your taste. Like it defines you. I mean, me, for me… I read comedy stories, and I write comedy stories, and that, um, recurs, I guess.”  
    “I dunno. I like stuff. I don’t think I have a ‘thing.’ I-I’m— 어— I don’t have one.”  
    “That’s okay… You don’t need one.”  
    “I should probably have one. But it’s okay.”  
    Jihoon looks down and sees a glint on the toes of his sneakers. The moonlight is peaking out from the trees now, and the crunching and snapping of twigs and leaves has shushed.  
    Jihoon looks around his shoulder, and Hoshi’s stopped moving, his mouth puffy and gaping and a chunk of moonlit bangs falling between his eyes. He isn't looking this way, he's looking somewhere else.  
    “Can we maybe not walk near that thing?” he says huskily.  
    Jihoon’s stopped. There’s a lumpy black splotch a bit down the road, plopped down closer to this side. It... looks fuzzy?  
    Oh!  
    “What the fuck?” Jihoon snorts, his voice getting louder. “It’s just a big fat bird.”  
    “No… uh… you, like, actually don’t understand. The birds here are mean people. Animals. Mean animals; that. To tell you the truth, they might not have souls.”  
    Jihoon turns to look at Hoshi; Jihoon’s showing him the shocked grin, and he’s starting to crack up, and holding his tongue between his teeth.  
    Hoshi’s starting to furrow his brow downward and squint his thin eyes.  
    “The _birds_?” Jihoon says, voice ripe.  
    “I mean it. You hear about people getting attacked? They peck people and stuff.” Hoshi gapes off in a daze. “And they make weird sounds, too.”  
    “Are you,” he says with a cackle of an exhale. “Are you gonna be okay?”  
    “I guess. It’s just… really dangerous.”  
    And then it all fades to black.  
    Jihoon turns with swaying duck-steps and cranes his neck. It’s the moon. Clouds are again clumping it into a heavy darkness.  
    “Well, you’re fine now,” Jihoon smirks. “You’re not have to look at it.”  
    “It could run at us in the dark,” Hoshi says.  
    “It’s fine,” Jihoon laughs with his breaths. He begins striding forward, tugging that handle blindly. “C’mon!”  
    “Can we not do this maybe?” Hoshi asks while following behind.  
    “Because of _birds_? That’s what you mean? Because of birds?”  
    “Yeah. There’re _dangerous_ birds.”  
    “That wasn’t a— a bird that eats mouses. And has sharp… hands.”  
    “There are different types of dangerous birds. Some of them aren’t pretty animals. Like turkeys.”  
    “I’ll keep walking now.”  
    “Okay. But be careful,” Hoshi mumbles.  
    “ _Sure._ ”  
    The ground is pitch black but the clouds and their hidden murky nebulas are tumbling across the sky, and the leaves sway so gentle, curl into black tendrils.  
    And Hoshi’s just behind. Following with his… trembly little feet that're (probably) embroidered with black ink.  
    “Oh, I was, just, not down with _that_ sickness. Damn,” Hoshi whispers.  
    “What?” Jihoon whispers back as he drags his case with him.  
    “I mean the— like, like, that scratchy noise,” Hoshi whispers through mumbles of his vocal chords.  
    “I didn’t hear the noise.”  
    “I mean it, I definitely heard it, for sure. That bird’s close and it’s making weird sounds. Be careful.”  
    Jihoon giggles airily.  
    Hoshi falls silent at that. And then it’s just the sounds of the night and the eyes in the wood, and sounds of two students shifting along the road and the soil.  
    Step (snap)…  
    Step (crunch)…  
    And then… there is something far away. It growls.  
    A series of twigs snap behind Jihoon.  
    He turns and hears Hoshi’s round voice whine out a strained, “Ah.”  
    “What was that?”  
    Silence.  
    Silence.  
    And then, in silence, a weak, prolonged whine.  
    “괜찮아요?” Jihoon mutters hitched onto unstable breaths.  
    “What?” Hoshi strains gently.  
    “Are you okay?” Jihoon corrects.  
    “Um.” Another twig snaps. “Um.”  
    “What happened?”  
    “I backed up really fast and tripped on a branch.”  
    “Do you need help to get up?”  
    “Uh.”  
    Jihoon waits.  
    “Duhy— do you have, uh,” Hoshi says, “a band-aid? Maybe, like, a _few_ band-aids?”  
    “What’s band-aids?”  
    “The sticky things. They’re rectangles. Usually.”  
    “I don’t know what that is.”  
    “You use them when you get hurt.”  
    “Oh. Oh, got it. I don’t think I have any. You’re… badly hurt?”  
    “I’m okay. Can you help me up?”  
    “Yeah. I can’t see you, though.”  
    “I’m reaching out.”  
    “Okay.”  
    Jihoon takes slow, cautious steps forward, reaching out… something brushes his fingertips. Grasping forward, he feels flesh in his palms, soft skin holding the bones of arms, and he tugs until Hoshi is groaning on his feet.  
    Staring at Hoshi’s vague silhouette, he asks, “Are you good?”  
    “I’m about to fall.”  
    “Wha—”  
    “I’m about to fall.”  
    “Uh… don’t?”  
    “My legs are giving out—”  
    “Put your arm up.”  
    The silhouette shifts and Jihoon grabs hold of Hoshi’s arm, moving in close until he's up against the guy, the arm around his shoulders.  
    “Lean.”  
    And a slender, warm body weight eases into Jihoon's shoulders.  
    “Don’t fall,” says Jihoon.  
    “I won’t. Thanks.”  
    “Don’t mention it.”  
    Hoshi’s barely shifting fabric against Jihoon, fingers curled up lazily by Jihoon’s neck.  
    “I’ll call the hospital,” Jihoon says in weak voice cracks.  
    “No. I’m fine. Let’s walk.”  
    “To the house?”  
    “Yeah,” Hoshi says.  
    “Are you sure?” Jihoon says, and at that the guy begins to properly slouch into Jihoon’s shoulder.  
    “Yeah, don’t worry, I’m, I’m like, actually fine. I can walk on my own in a bit. Just gimme a minute, okay?”  
    “Okay. I don’t care.”  
    “You don’t care meaning, like…?”  
    “I’m… able to carry a lot.”  
    “Okay… Good.”  
    Hoshi’s soft fever warms Jihoon, but when Jihoon supportively presses his left palm to Hoshi’s back, he overheats as his muscles flood with warm adrenaline. Stiff. And achey from the inside.  
    He has the two of them turn.  
    He's careful to guide them to the right.  
    Hoshi’s feet stop dragging through the leaves and instead scratch along the asphalt, and Jihoon’s right hand is still clutching his suitcase.  
    Hoshi's arm is chafing Jihoon's neck and shy heat spreads there. It's like wearing a heat pack around his neck.  
    As a child in Busan.  
    Watching the sun melt from the sky the whole day, with the screen door open. His legs spread out on the smooth kitchen floor.  
    “Seungcheol’ll be so happy to meet you,” Hoshi says casually as he drags his feet beside Jihoon.  
    “Really?” Jihoon says.  
    “Yeah, he said so.”  
    “ _Really?_ Why?”  
    “He said you’re pretty funny.”  
    Jihoon really feels sick now. The happiness bubbling at the back of his throat.  
    “Am I the last person showing up?” Jihoon asks.  
    “Yup. Everyone’s back at the house.”  
    “How… are they? Are they… nice…?”  
    “Well, yeah. Don’t be nervous.”  
    “I’m not.”  
    “They… seemed… friendly. Everyone I’ve talked to.”  
    “Did you talk to all of them?”  
    “I mean… not Wonwoo. But we talked on LINES a lot. He’s pretty dumb,” Hoshi chuckles, and surprised laughter bursts from Jihoon’s mouth.  
    The shy grins have Jihoon’s cheeks aching in the darkness.  
    The air is cooling now, still humid, but the cicadas’ve tucked away, and now Hoshi speaks mostly over the sunset-voiced purr of crickets when he says, “Where’re you from, by the way?”  
    “Korea.”  
    “Where in Korea?”  
    “Busan.”  
    “Is that far from Seoul?”  
    “Very far.”  
    “So… Think it’ll be hard to get used to America?” he asks, breath warm ‘cause he’s leaning closer, arm properly wrapping him to Jihoon.  
    “Of course. But I… look forward… to it.”  
    Hoshi’s chest rises and falls against Jihoon’s shoulder but he doesn’t speak. He eases his chest away, letting more cool air cleanse Jihoon's left side.  
    “Oh. Yeah?” Hoshi finally replies. “How come?”  
    “I wasn’t… I wasn’t… doing anything in Busan. Being comfortable… sucks.”  
    “I get that,” Hoshi says quietly.  
    “You do?”  
    “I mean… sort of? Comfortable meaning… what?”  
    “I wasn’t doing anything. I can’t do anything staying inside. I’m 19 years old and I don’t know who I am. I deserve to know.”  
    “Oh. Yeah. I mean…”  
    “Sorry. I spilled… 어… I spilled my… Do you know this sentence?” Jihoon asks the blotchy silhouette wrapped beside him.  
    “Spilled the beans?”  
    “No. Anyway, sorry for being serious.”  
    “It’s fine.”  
    Jihoon can see further down the road now, vague shapes, and the way Hoshi walks with his chin up, eyes forward, shoulder tight with his arm holding to Jihoon.  
    It sure is… dark.  
    Yup.  
    Quietly, Jihoon can see more in the darkness.  
    And Hoshi, too, can see the shapes of a 19-year-old stranger, darkness draining him of colors but the shadows forming his brown hair tangling under his cap as he looks on with dead eyes.  
    Hoshi stands straight, slips his arm down from Jihoon’s shoulder, and Jihoon’s eyes flick up to him.  
    The softening confusion in Hoshi's cheeks and the buttoned tip of his nose.  
    Jihoon will from now remember what Hoshi looks(/thinks) like.  
    Hoshi will from now remember what Jihoon looks(/thinks) like.  
    Jihoon spots something down by the side of the road.  
    A cloud of light brushes behind the trees, little spots of white and yellow gently peeking out between long streeks of ebony silhouettes.  
    Hoshi says, “There it is.”  
    He looks to Jihoon with a cheeky grin, and Jihoon grins back, head tilted away.  
    "Ready to meet ‘em?” Hoshi asks.  
    "Yeah," Jihoon replies.  
    Their shining eyes keep to each other for several more seconds, and the two share grins in a very strange wood, with bark.  
    And soil.  
    And insects.  
    And things that hybernate.  
    Things that are buried in the soil.  
    But before Jihoon can take another step forward, he falls back.  
    A shift at first and then a kaleidoscope rush.  
    He falls from his body in a quickly gaining heart-drop speed. Rushes down from it, the air tearing around him into a cradle of acceleration as he watches the snapback strap latched in back of his head as it grows farther away and that body seems small and the trees streak high and yell.  
    And then he's grabbed.  
    Into a still.  
    And he's pulled back until he's staring into Hoshi's face.  
    (Jihoon has no concept what just happened. He's forgotten already.)  
    Neither of them say anything. Hoshi doesn't say anything.  
    But for a moment, in the silence, Hoshi says something.  
    Hoshi says with his eyes, _"You seem scared. What's wrong?"_  
    Words, fake words, things that can only be heard in your head, and Jihoon heard them, and Jihoon said nothing aloud, but he fake-said something back.  
_“I don't like new people,”_ is Jihoon's silent reply.  
_"Why?"_ Hoshi says with his fake words.  
_"Because being strangers is creepy. It's weird to walk on the same earth as another human being and let that mean nothing. I'm not supposed to care who you are. It's scary to know that you're not relevant."  
    "I don't think you're irrelevant."  
    "It doesn't matter. You're just observing me, anyway. You don't understand me. You don't know me."  
    "But I will."  
    "You will?"  
    "I will."_  
    And he won't forget.  
   _"But what if nothing works?"_ Jihoon asks silently.  
_"Then... we'll do our best. And that's okay."  
    "Alright,"_ Jihoon doesn't-really-say. And that's enough. _"You're K. Hoshi. And I'm Lee Jihoon. And I'll keep on walking onward until you see me, and then you'll know who I am."  
    Jihoon realizes, I don't want to be alone anymore. And I'm alone now. But I'll walk anyway. I'll step through the void with shining eyes. I'll walk through the snow and the rain, and you can walk beside me some days, and let's find even more friends to walk beside us. If everything fails, then I’ll keep listening. Even when I can’t hear and your words mean nothing, I'll keep listening the best I can listen, and I'll reach out from the darkness until the day I die, and if I grow old and have only learned what it's like to reach across the darkness of a million miles of space, I'll keep reaching out with glowing eyes and hope, I'll reach for everyone and everything, and Hoshi, Kwon Hoshi, whose name I will one day understand down to the letter, Kwon Hoshi who will one day give my words new meanings-- if nothing matters then that’s okay, if nothing is accomplished, then that’s okay. Reaching is everything. It can all fail and be hopeless and meaningless, that could really happen. It can be the absolute worst that it can ever be, and that’s okay, too. The worst is okay. Even then, I think I can be happy._  
    Hoshi looks to the house lights. Jihoon looks down the road. They grin at nothing in particular.  
    “Did you say something?” Jihoon asks.  
    “Huh? No,” Hoshi replies.  
    But before turning their eyes away in those few seconds of contact, those two souls, just for a fraction, of a fraction, of a fraction of a second, their two souls leaned to each other.  
    In this way, Jihoon makes his first new friend.

 

 **Around the Strange Things: Chapter 2 coming soon. Jihoon meets his roommate! And it's awful.**  
**With everyone spending so much time not alone, keeping secrets, for example, becomes much harder.**

**Author's Note:**

> For updates on StranTh (Around the Strange Things), as well as StranTh art, StranTh promos, sex jokes, and maybe answering some questions, my StranTh-related Twitter is twitter.com/thestranth


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